


where the water's sweet like honey

by Kleenexwoman



Series: How many times does an angel fall? [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ancient Rome, Anilingus, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Finger Sucking, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Food Porn, M/M, Oysters, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: Crowley's never eaten an oyster, gotten a proper massage, or used his brand-new cock for its intended purpose. Aziraphale treats him to an evening of relaxation to welcome him to Rome.





	where the water's sweet like honey

Crowley caught Aziraphale's arm as the angel led him through the busy Roman streets. "So are oysters officially 'all right' now, or are you just treating yourself on your day off?" 

"I'm treating both of us," Aziraphale answered vaguely. He bent his head closer to Crowley's and lowered his voice. "You know I've been pushing for those changes in the best practices handbook for humans, especially the food hygiene and management rules." 

"Yes, 'don't bring pigs to the desert, they'll eat everything and die' seemed reasonable." 

"In the desert, certainly. The Iberians have wonderful forests for wild boar. No ecological issue and they're delicious smoked...Anyway, there have been some disagreements about the Best Practices handbook among the humans lately, and the memos have really been flying about it." 

Crowley made what he hoped was a sympathetic noise. "Inter-office politics are the worst. Keeping your head down, or...?" 

"I'm trying not to take sides. Another squabble is the last thing we need in Heaven right now. But my proposal has gotten a little attention from the pro-appendix faction." He glanced at Crowley and smiled. "It's nice to be noticed." 

"Be careful, angel." 

"It's not rebellious to suggest a few updates here and there." 

"Or don't be careful."

"I'm quite certain it's in keeping with Her Will and everything."

"Up to you." 

"Probably bring in some new faces, which would be nice. The Romans quite like other people's holidays, but they aren't keen on restricting their own personal activities in any way whatsoever --ah, here we are." Aziraphale led Crowley into an unassuming doorway. 

A few steps later, Aziraphale began to take his toga off. He handed it to a slim young man wearing a skimpy imitation of what he'd just doffed. 

Crowley followed suit. "Good. Hate togas. What a pain to wear." 

"Aren't they rather like kilts?" Aziraphale raised his arms. The attendant efficiently stripped off his tunic. 

"Um, uh." Crowley had seen Aziraphale naked before. In Canaan and Judea, he'd been circumcised. He hadn't in Greece, but the relevant appendage had been smaller. "Kilts make the legs look incredible, though." This was the first time he'd ever had such a strong reaction to its unveiling. Not much about the angel's body had changed, but Crowley's certainly had. 

The boy knelt down and tugged on the hem of his tunic. "May I? For the bath." 

"I do recommend it, even if you've already gone today," Aziraphale prattled, "they do a lovely rubdown--I mean, if that would be appropriate for your situation." His eyes flicked downwards meaningfully. 

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Crowley raised his arms. The boy's soft hands brushed over his thighs and then over his chest as he gathered up the black tunic. Crowley's vision was briefly obscured by the fabric going over his head. The boy's knee went between Crowley's thighs. When in Rome, indeed. 

"After you." Aziraphale gestured at the cement pond. Crowley took his time going down the steps, testing the temperature of the water. "I like your latest model." 

"Had Baphomet design it, s/he's great at sculpting the wibbly bits." Crowley let himself float and turned around to watch the water lap at Aziraphale's golden-furred thighs. "It's my first set like this. You remember the old one." 

"Mmm," Aziraphale acknowledged. "This one suits you better, if you don't mind me saying so." 

"I don’t." Crowley ducked under the water. He held his breath, even though he didn't need to. He blinked and saw Aziraphale sit on the steps, saw one hand drift down to his thigh and settle there. The other hand dipped in and out of the water. Crowley came up to see Aziraphale splashing himself, face glistening. "I slipped it on just before getting into Roman territory. Say what you like about the Celts, they appreciate women, redheads, and snakes." 

Next was the rubdown. The attendant helped Crowley onto a table via the buttocks, then pushed him between the shoulder blades. Crowley lay his head on a little pillow that smelled like lavender. Oil drizzled over his back. The attendant’s hands on his shoulders were smooth but firm. “Your back is filled with muscle knots. You know what that is? That’s stress. That’s just a ton of stress, right up in there.” He kneaded a knot with such ferocity that Crowley nearly kicked him. The boy caught his ankle gently and guided his legs apart. “You need to relax more.” 

Aziraphale had settled on a low stool and was making appreciative little moans. He had one boy working on his chest and another at his back. A third fussed over his hair. “How was Britannia?” 

“Very green, very damp. I think they’ve only just discovered salt.” 

“They’re saying it’ll fall to Rome any day now.” 

“They’ve been saying that for decades. I wasn’t there about Rome, anyway, I was doing contract negotiations.” 

“Sounds interesting,” Aziraphale did not sound interested. He tilted his head and sighed as slim hands worked over his neck. 

“Collection and protection. It was very clever and now I don’t have to lift a finger over there.” It had taken Crowley seven days to find Queen Mab. It had taken seven years to work out a contract between a fairy and a demon that satisfied both parties, so that had been the agreed-upon interval for the tiend of human souls from her Wild Hunt to Hell’s detention facilities. Crowley had promised Hell’s assistance in case of a Heavenly incursion, but he hadn’t said anything about a Martian invasion. It would be Mars there first, before the rest of his family; he’d seen the telltale red of the war god’s raiment several times in Gaul. 

Crowley yelped as a metal implement scraped across his skin. “Oi, no knives in the back!” 

“It’s a strigil, it cleans off the dirt and sweat. Just let them work.” Aziraphale petted the hair of the boy in front of him, who’d gotten down to the angel’s feet. “We oughtn't talk shop in here anyway. It spoils the experience. Aloysius over there is right about stress, you know.” 

Aloysius finished with Crowley’s back and finally allowed him to slither off the table. The boy padded over to Aziraphale and whispered something in his ear, curving his thumb and forefinger into an O shape and tracing it with his other forefinger as he glanced back at Crowley. Aziraphale shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We’re just here for dinner, Aly. Really.” Aloysius nodded, but he didn’t look like he believed his patron. 

“Is that what you’ve been doing in Rome, taking some mental health days?” Crowley slid off the bench and into a soft, clean robe that opened in the front with a belt. 

Aziraphale shrugged into his. “Everyone who's anyone in the city comes here eventually, and it’s a wonderful place to pass the time on occasion. Very easy to get to know people here.” 

“Is it.” Crowley felt Aziraphale’s fingertips dance for a moment at the small of his back before the angel let his palm make contact, ushering Crowley into what appeared to be the dining room. 

“You’ll see. I’ll introduce you around.” Aziraphale kept his hand on Crowley’s back as he steered them around the marble hall. It was light and airy and had a lot of strategically placed plants and pillars surrounding big, cushy velvet couches that were a bit bigger than the usual thing. Slender boys in skimpy togas placed tables and dishes in front of men, most in robes similar to what Crowley and Aziraphale were already wearing. A few of them had already gotten naked. 

Crowley tried to commit the names of Aziraphale’s friends to memory, but most of his mental energy went towards processing the hand that was not moving from the small of his back. He smiled widely and laughed when it sounded appropriate. “Was that a satyr?” he asked, after they’d chatted with a particularly hairy gent who Aziraphale had kissed on the cheek. 

“Oh, it’s all very ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ about that sort of thing here. Gnotius is a dear regardless of his species.” Aziraphale’s hand slid slightly upwards, directing Crowley away from the knots of chatting...masculine beings. A dart of lust followed them, red and smoky and crackling. Crowley felt it catch at the base of his spine, like a static shock between his skin and Aziraphale’s fingertips. It wriggled up his back and curled his toes in their sandals. 

Aziraphale led them to a booth at the back of the room. It was filled with pillows. Crowley immediately began to lounge, tuning out Aziraphale’s chatter with the attendant about the specials. Soon they were sipping wine and picking at bowls of stuffed olives. The angel’s bowl was disappearing quickly, and he was dropping some valuable intel. Most of the decent people in Rome were drowning in casual corruption, and that wasn’t likely to change despite Aziraphale’s efforts. 

Oysters were big blobs of salty mucus inside of rocks. Crowley had watched some Celts gather and eat them, cracking the rocks open with long tarnished knives. Petronius’s clever trick was that he cooked them in a lot of delicious-tasting fluid, and then sent a lithe boy wearing nearly nothing to open them for you. 

Aziraphale took one from the tray and held it up to Crowley. Crowley licked his lips, daring himself to do it, and then leaned forward and opened his mouth. “Oh,” Aziraphale said, and brought the rough shell up to Crowley’s bottom lip. Crowley flicked out the tips of his tongue and lapped at the juice inside the shell, the briny taste of the sea and the tang of white wine. He caught the soft flesh of the oyster between his teeth, and drew it from the shell with his lips. It was smooth against his tongue and popped between his teeth, a sudden burst of something fresh and green spreading over his palate. 

Crowley selected another and proffered it to Aziraphale. “So this is how the Romans eat oysters?” 

“Sometimes.” Aziraphale stroked the underside of Crowley’s hand with his impossibly soft fingertips, tilting his hand gently, adjusting the angle of his fingers the way he’d adjusted the trajectory of their amble through the room. Gentle pressure, only perceptible if your entire being was focused on those few micrometers between flesh and flesh. His tongue brushed Crowley’s fingertips as he sipped the liquor from the shell, then liberated the soft flesh of the fish with his tongue. “Mmm. What do you think?” 

“It’ssss--” Crowley clapped his hand over his mouth. “Good way to eat rocks, yeah.” 

Aziraphale laughed and helped himself to another oyster. Crowley watched him sip the liquid inside, pluck the flesh from the shell with his lips. His cheeks were pink and he looked very alive. Most of their lot didn’t spend enough time on Earth to get those crinkly lines around the eyes. Eyes like that expressed a lot, had tells. Crowley nursed his wine and studied the angel’s face as he ate. 

“They’re not rocks, you know,” Aziraphale said mildly. “They’re fish.” 

“Looks nothing like a fish. Fish have heads and tails and things.” 

“Yes, but fish live in the water…” 

“So do rocks.” 

“Some rocks do live in the water. Oh, I think you’ll like this.” Aziraphale grinned as their attendant set down a new tray. “These people will find a way to make absolutely anything delicious, or at least edible.” 

The tray held an arrangement of crispy little fried balls covered in a slick glaze and sesame seeds. Aziraphale took one and proffered it. Crowley smiled and opened his mouth again, which made the angel go even more pink than he was already. He placed the tidbit on Crowley’s tongue. Crowley closed his lips around the angel’s finger and swirled his tongue around the tip before pulling away. The taste of the meat was familiar when he chewed, the sweetness of the honey glaze mingling with the crunch of mouse bones. 

“I have never thought to do that with mice.” Crowley took one and swirled it in the honey that pooled in the dish, then held it out to Aziraphale. 

“Yes, they breed dormice just for eating, and I thought that might whet your appetite. Oh, no--not to my taste.” Aziraphale shook his head. 

Crowley shrugged and popped the mouse into his mouth. As soon as he did, Aziraphale curled his fingers around Crowley’s wrist and brought it gently to his own mouth. The pink tip of his tongue caught a drop of honey making its way down Crowley’s palm. 

Aziraphale lowered his eyelids and gazed up at Crowley through his eyelashes as he slipped Crowley’s honey-coated finger into his soft mouth. He bobbed his head gently back and forth, pushing another finger between his lips before closing his eyes and taking both of Crowley’s fingers down his throat. Crowley moaned. Aziraphale let go, lips shining. “But I do like the glaze they use.” 

The new body was really responding in the root chakra area. Crowley could feel the phallus rubbing against his thighs, the shock of arousal going down in a lighting vein to his toes. If an angel really wanted to seduce him in a restaurant full of horny Romans, why not? Maybe this was just how they welcomed newcomers to the city. Fine custom. “I’ve heard them call oysters an ‘aphrodisiac’,” he said, and wiped a bit of moisture away from the bottom of Aziraphale’s lip. “You’re terribly clever, you should tell me what that means.” He opened his mouth a little wider than necessary and dragged the pad of his thumb across his tongue. 

“It means ‘of Aphrodite.’ They call her Venus over here. Showed up in a big seashell one day, said ‘Does anyone need a goddess of love and beauty and pleasure and things like that?’ Apparently they just went and cleared a place on Mount Olympus the moment she showed up.” Aziraphale tilted his head and pressed his head against Crowley’s, lips so close to his ear Crowley could feel the warmth of the angel’s breath on his neck, “Between you and me, I think she’s one of those Canaanite deities the Boss threw over, just with a nosejob and a new hairdo. I’ve heard they weren’t really smitings so much as they were nasty breakups.” 

“Why would you distract me from a perfectly good seduction by just dropping a piece of gossip that amazing?” Crowley groaned. Aziraphale traced the shell of Crowley’s ear with the tip of his tongue. The demon didn’t even try to hide his responding hiss, and wondered when his earlobe had become an erogenous zone. 

“I thought it was common knowledge at this point--I’m always the last to know, frankly. She certainly doesn’t check in with me much these days.” Aziraphale’s mouth moved from Crowley’s neck to the crook between his throat and shoulder. He reached for another oyster and held it to Crowley’s lips. “Shall I get you back on track?” 

Crowley didn’t quite get all of the broth on the first try, and some of it splashed onto his neck as he chewed the tidbit inside. Aziraphale went for it, dropping the shell and pressing his mouth to Crowley’s neck. Crowley lolled back against the overstuffed pillows, letting the angel nip and suck at the delicate, sensitive skin of his throat. 

Aziraphale’s scent had intensified, the sandalwood earthy and the rose musky. It absolutely didn’t go with the aftertaste of the oyster. Crowley reached over to wash his mouth out with the sweet white wine. He pulled one side of his robe away and spilled a trail onto his chest, hands shaking just a little. The angel moved seamlessly from mouthing over his throat to following the drizzle of wine down Crowley’s chest with his tongue. “They did a good job,” he remarked, coming up for air once the wine had been exhausted. “Very smooth.” 

“Uh-huh.” Crowley’s nipples and his cock were standing up straight, brushing against the soft linen of the robes and aching for something soft and warm. He spread his fingers against Aziraphale’s back, the same place where the angel had touched him earlier. When he’d been showing Crowley off to his other lovers. The thought made Crowley shudder. His hips had developed a mind of their own, and they pushed his straining cock against Aziraphale’s soft thighs. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to use this set.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He worked his hand under Crowley’s robe. Plump, manicured fingers pressed into the sensitive skin of Crowley’s thighs as the angel spread the demon’s legs. “We should celebrate.” His voice was soft and beneficent as his other thumb brushed across Crowley’s crinkled areola. “May I be the first to, er…” He waved a hand in the general direction of Crowley’s groin, cheeks going ruddy. 

“Yeah! Yeah, sure. Absolutely.” Crowley winced inwardly; he’d sounded like he was agreeing to watch a match of an obscure sporting event instead of inviting an angel to do as he liked with Crowley’s body. Judging by the way the angel’s eyes suddenly sparkled, it hadn’t killed the mood. He undid the belt of the robe and pushed the fabric away from Crowley’s body. 

“Oh, lovely.” Aziraphale rubbed the shaft of Crowley’s cock against his cheek, then turned his head slightly and ran the tip of his tongue all the way up to the head. His lips closed over the crown of Crowley’s cock, and he gave a happy little sigh before starting to lick and suck in earnest. Crowley clutched a pillow so hard it burst into feathers. 

Aziraphale’s mouth was perfectly warm, wet, and soft. Every time he moved his tongue, Crowley’s hips jerked of their own accord and a spark of pleasure rushed through his body. The angel looked up at Crowley through his lashes, then lowered his eyes demurely and took even more of the demon’s cock into his mouth. He wrapped a hand around the base and began to stroke, pink lips and white curls bobbing up and down. 

Crowley officially handed the reins over to his hips and let his body follow. Red and pink sparkled and swirled over his sight. The scent of rose was a riotous garden in the sultry summer sun. He writhed like a serpent in heat, and snarled when the angel’s lips parted from his skin. 

“Thank you, Aly, we did need more olive oil. Would you, er, mind?” Aziraphale flipped the hem of his robe up. 

“Do I ever mind?” Aloysius poured a pool of oil into the palm of his hand and began to slick his fingers. He leaned over and gave Crowley’s penis an appraising look, then slid two fingers between the angel’s dimpled thighs. “Did you want to order anything else before the main course?” 

Aziraphale reached out, snagged the jug of oil, and began to drizzle it over Crowley’s cock without ever breaking the rhythm he’d set with his other hand. His hard cock rubbed against Crowley’s thigh as he pushed into Aloysius’s fingers. “Another plate of oysters wouldn’t go amiss.” 

“Our special today is stuffed squab with skirret and arugula salad, and we’ve got those pear-prosciutto-chevre tarts you like.” Aloysius drizzled more oil over his hand. He had three slim fingers inside of Aziraphale now. Crowley craned his neck to watch, enjoying the sight of the boy stretching out the angel for his cock. “You’re very good to go, sir.” 

“I trust your recommendations, as always,” Aziraphale panted, and waved the boy away gently. Aloysius withdrew his dripping fingers and winked at Crowley before he headed back across the room. 

Aziraphale straddled Crowley’s thighs and took both of their cocks into his hand. Crowley’s was slightly longer and thinner, bright red head burgeoning out of his pale foreskin. Aziraphale’s was pink and purple-headed and just as hard. Crowley could feel the angel’s erection throbbing against his own in a slower rhythm than his own heartbeat. It made sense that the angel was more relaxed--he enjoyed his food and his bath, and he was willing to offer himself up to be fucked in a restaurant full of horny* man-shaped creatures. 

*Some of them both literally and figuratively. Horns and antlers were very popular among the local nature spirits. 

Aziraphale pressed Crowley’s cock against his own belly, the oil making glistening tracks on his pale skin. The head came up almost to Aziraphale’s navel, which earned a pleased gasp from the angel. He raised himself above Crowley’s body and guided the head of Crowley’s cock to the dark red rim of his hole, teasing his entrance. 

The heat and suction was tantalizing, the sight of his cock pressing into the angel intoxicating. Crowley flicked the feathers from his fingers and grasped Aziraphale’s hips, then thrust upwards as hard as he dared. Aziraphale sank down greedily, gasping with every little movement as Crowley’s cock slid inside him, enveloping Crowley in that greedy, engulfing warmth. 

“Ah, now you’ve got the trick of it,” Aziraphale murmured as Crowley bucked up into him, pulling him down in time with the rhythm of his hips. The angel threw his head back and closed his eyes, mouth open, throat obscenely exposed. His robe hung loose over his body, exposing the curls of golden hair covering his chest, the gilded trail leading down from his belly to his cock. The last rays of the setting sun snuck in from the skylight, painting orange and fuschia patterns across the fine strands of his corporeal halo. 

They created a pattern together, a waveform that started in Crowley’s hips and ended at Azirpahale’s moaning, gasping mouth. It moved in a sinuous shape that Pythagoras could have used to define desire. Aziraphale wanted Crowley inside of him, hard and deep, and Crowley did his very best to give it to Aziraphale while lying down on very soft pillows. The angel was riding him like an expert, dimpled thighs trembling, toes curling even as he pushed away from the cushions only to fall back down onto the demon’s cock. 

Aziraphale came first, muscles tightening around Crowley’s cock as he whimpered and ground himself down hard. The feeling set Crowley off like a flash of lightning, suddenly and all at once. The wave of pleasure hit like a hammer. His hips led the rest of his body upwards through his cock into Aziraphale’s pulsing core. “Yessssss…” 

Pearlescent semen splattered over Crowley’s skin. He trailed his fingers through the drops and touched it to his tongue. It was interestingly sweet and made his mouth tingle pleasantly. He offered it up to Aziraphale. The angel grasped Crowley’s wrist and guided his hand to his mouth, then lapped up his own come from the demon’s fingers. The angel shuddered in aftershock. Crowley’s hips jerked with him. A drop of purple-blue fluid trickled out of Aziraphale’s hole and made its way through the red hair at the base of Crowley’s cock. 

Crowley could feel his erection softening inside of the angel’s tight warmth, but Aziraphale didn’t seem in any hurry to move. He sighed in satisfaction, hips still swaying slowly. One soft, plump finger traced the space where his rim met the Crowley’s skin. He rubbed the demon’s come between his finger and thumb and peered at it as though inspecting a scroll. “Indigo. How lovely.” 

“I didn’t know it would come out that color. You could use it as ink.” 

Aziraphale touched it to the tip of his tongue. “If you were so inclined.” He lifted himself off Crowley’s cock and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Crowley’s lips. The tip of his tongue carried a burn like cinnamon and ginger.


End file.
